Taking a deep breath, I lay on my belly on the deck, stretching my arm as far into the water as it will go. The cool water flows over my hand, but nothing brushes against it. Still, the feeling persists.
“Are you there?” I call out softly, feeling slightly foolish. “It’s okay. You’re safe with me. I just… I want to say thank you. For the other day.”
Silence greets me, broken only by the gentle lapping of waves and distant sounds from the town. And yet, the longer the quiet stretches, the more confident I become that something is down there, watching and listening.
A rash idea forms in my mind. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m unhooking the kayak tied to my houseboat and lowering myself into it. With swift strokes, I start paddling out of the marina. If something is out there – a kraken, as impossible as that seems – it probably won’t show itself so close to other people.
I paddle until the marina and the town beyond are just faint shapes in the distance. The open water stretches out around me, bright and endless. A few boats dot the horizon, specks against the vast expanse, but here in my immediate vicinity, it’s just me and the endless waves. A shiver runs down my spine, but it’s not from fear.
“Are you there?” I call out again, my voice carrying across the still water. “Please, Iknowyou’re out there. I can feel you.”
Leaning over the side of the kayak, I dangle my hand into the water. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, something so faint I almost think I imagined it brushes against my palm. My heart leaps.
Then my kayak begins to move on its own. At first, it’s subtle – just the slightest shift against the current – but then the movement becomes unmistakable. I’m being pushed back towards the marina, though I can’t see what’s guiding me. My paddle hangs useless in my hands as I stare down at the water, my heart thundering in my chest. The presence I’ve been feeling is stronger than ever, an electric awareness that makes every hair on my arms stand on end. I see a dark shape moving in the water beneath me for a moment, barely visible through the surface. It seems to stretch forever, a shadow that’s both there and not there; it’s like trying to judge the size of a whale by its silhouette through deep water. My kayak glides smoothly backward, gaining speed as it heads back toward the marina.
“Wait! No, don’t. Please,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I want to see you. I want to be your friend.”
The kayak continues its steady glide despite my pleading. I make a decision that I know is foolish – dangerous and stupid even. But I need to know. Without giving myself time to reconsider, I throw myself off the kayak and into the water.
The shock of the cold hits me first, followed immediately by a flash of movement. As I open my eyes underwater, an enormous tentacle passes right before my eyes. It’s massive – wider than my torso – with skin that shifts between deep blues and purples, almost iridescent in the filtered sunlight.
Without thinking, I reach out toward it, my hand stretching through the dark water. The tentacle pauses, then curls around my hand – the touch impossibly gentle, almost like a greeting. The moment stretches, strange and electric. Then it releases myhand and wraps smoothly around my waist, lifting me out of the water.
I break the surface with a gasp, equal parts exhilarated and relieved as the tentacle deposits me back into my kayak. Water streams down my face and my clothes cling to me, but I barely notice the discomfort. My whole body is trembling, not from cold but from a cocktail of adrenaline and wonder.
“Thank you,” I sputter, pushing wet hair out of my face. “I’m sorry about jumping in. I just… I had to be sure I wasn’t going crazy.” The words tumble out, urgent and sincere, though I’m not even sure if it can understand human speech.
The ocean’s surface swells, a gentle dome rising from the depths. As I watch, breathless, the water parts and the kraken emerges – for there’s no denying what it is now. Its massive form towers above me, casting a shadow over me as seawater streams down its dark flesh. Two eyes, each the size of a car tire, fix upon me with a shrewd intelligence. The creature looks like an enormous octopus with a massive bulbous head and long, sinuous tentacles. The kraken’s skin is a mesmerizing grey-blue, mottled with deeper purplish splotches that seem to shift and dance in the light. Eight tentacles breach the surface with barely a ripple, coiling and unfurling in hypnotic patterns. They twist through the water like living ribbons, spiraling so deep and far that their ends are lost to the darkness below. Their fluid grace masks their titanic size, making me forget I’m watching a creature that could crush ships in its embrace.
The kraken’s size is shocking and awe-inspiring, easily dwarfing my houseboat. But it’s the eyes that captivate me – large, intelligent, and fixed on me with an intensity that leaves no doubt that it understands every word I’m saying. Its eyes are deep and expressive, with horizontal pupils that contract into thin slits as it studies me. There’s a wisdom in their depths that sends a shiver down my spine.
We stare at each other for a long moment, human and myth, locked in a silent exchange. Then, slowly, hesitantly, the kraken raises a tentacle. I hold my breath as it reaches towards me. The appendage is thick as a redwood at its base, tapering to a surprisingly delicate tip no wider than my index finger. Its underside is lined with suckers that graduate from massive dinner-plate circles to delicate cups no bigger than pinheads at its end. Each one flexes and moves independently, like thousands of tiny, curious mouths.
The tentacle’s tip, impossibly gentle, caresses my cheek. This behemoth of legend, capable of dragging ships to their doom, touching me with the tenderness of a mother wiping away a child’s tear.
As the tentacle starts to withdraw, I catch it in my hand, marveling at the feel of it. The suckers cling gently to my fingers, an alien sensation that sends a thrill through me. I stare in wonder, running a thumb over the patterns on its skin.
“You’re real,” I breathe, a smile spreading across my face. “You’re really real.”
As I speak, a visible ripple cascades across the kraken’s skin, starting from where my hand touches its tentacle and spreading outward. The smooth surface seems to contract and relax in a wave-like motion, the gray-blue hues intensifying and the purplish splotches momentarily brightening. This undulation somehow reminds me of a cat’s purr made visible; it gives the unmistakable impression of pleasure.
I can’t help but giggle, fascinated by this extraordinary reaction. Gently, I trace my fingers over one of the changed purple patterns on the kraken’s tentacle. The skin beneath my touch is cool and slick, yet responsive in a way I never imagined possible. As my fingertips glide over another dark splotch, it seems to pulse and swirl, almost as if chasing my touch. It’s extraordinary.
The kraken’s eyes seem to sparkle in response to my laughter, and I could swear I see a flicker of amusement in their depths. The rippling motion continues, more subtle now but still perceptible, like a constant low hum of contentment.
“Thank you,” I say again, my voice thick with emotion. “For saving me after the storm and helping me back into the kayak just now. And… and for returning my things.” I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. “And… thank you for the other night too. That was you in the marina, wasn’t it?” I meet its gaze steadily. “I thought I felt something touch my foot. I wasn’t imagining it, was I? It was you.”
The kraken doesn’t respond, of course, but I feel a gentle squeeze from the tentacle I’m holding as if in affirmation.
I laugh, the sound born of pure joy and amazement. “I knew it! IknewI wasn’t imagining things.”
I sober, remembering the terrifying moments when I thought I might drown. The weight of what this creature has done for me settles in my chest. “Thank you again for saving me,” I say softly, my voice filled with genuine gratitude. “You risked exposure to help me. I wish there were a way I could repay you. I’m just glad to get to meet you. I hope that we can be friends.”
The kraken tilts its massive head, regarding me. I get the impression that it’s considering how to answer and communicate with me. After a moment, it gently tugs on my hand with its tentacle, tugging me closer to the edge of the kayak.
“What?” I ask, leaning forward.
The kraken watches me, and instead of answering directly, it holds up a tentacle, then taps it pointedly against the kayak.
